Clemmie hesitated. ‘I’m happy for him. It’s an amazing opportunity, and he deserves it. But…’ She trailed off, searching for the right words. ‘There was always a small part of me thatthought there was a possibility… But I’m okay with that. It’s just circumstances.’
‘And you’re really at peace with it?’ Amelia asked, watching her carefully.
Clemmie hesitated for a moment before nodding. ‘Yeah, I am.’
But she wasn’t. Not really. Because the truth was, she was putting on a brave face. She didn’t want to think about him leaving for a year, because if she had a magic wand, she’d make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. But wishing wouldn’t change reality, and if she let herself dwell on it, she might not hold it together at all.
Instead, she plastered on a smile and reached across to her bag and pulled out the box. She opened it to show the girls the earrings. ‘He bought me these.’
Amelia gasped. ‘Look at those, how beautiful.’
‘Theyarebeautiful. Are you going to keep in touch this time? No disappearing acts?’ asked Dilly.
‘He asked me that, too,’ Clemmie admitted. ‘I said yes. But a part of me isn’t sure if I want to hear about all the incredible things he’ll be doing over there. It’s selfish, but it’s how I feel.’
The table fell into a contemplative silence, broken only by the clatter of Betty returning from the pantry, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
‘Clemmie,’ Betty said, her tone softer than usual. ‘I have something for you.’
Betty placed a small box on the table. It was wrapped in delicate tissue paper and tied with a ribbon the colour of the sea. Clemmie looked up at her, puzzled. ‘What’s this?’
‘Go on,’ Betty urged. ‘Open it.’
Clemmie untied the ribbon, her fingers trembling slightly, and carefully unfolded the tissue paper. Inside was a neatly folded apron, its fabric soft with age but beautifully preserved.The apron was ivory with delicate lace trim around the edges. Across the front, embroidered in gold thread, were the wordsThe Café on the Coast, surrounded by subtle patterns of flowers and birds.
Clemmie’s eyes widened as she took it from the box, running her fingers over the embroidery. ‘This is exquisite. Where did you get this?’
Betty smiled, ‘It belonged to your great-great-grandmother Beatrice. She wore it every day of her life. Said it brought her luck in the kitchen. I thought you might wantit today, for the competition.’
Clemmie swallowed a lump, close to emotional tears, ‘It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you’ve kept it all this time.’
‘It was a gift from her husband, your great-great-grandfather Arthur. He had it made specially for her by Mrs Pruitt, the seamstress who used to live in the cottage by Puffin Rock. You know, the little one with the wisteria growing over the doorway.’
Clemmie’s eyes widened. ‘Of course.’
‘Mrs Pruitt was a marvel with a needle. She ran a little sewing shop out of the cottage back in the day. Beatrice told me her husband wanted her to feel loved and cherished every time she wore that apron. And she did.’
Clemmie’s hands trembled slightly as she slipped the apron over her head. The fit was perfect, as if it had been made just for her. The fabric settled comfortably against her, and she tied the waistband with care. As she adjusted it, shenoticed something stitched on the inside.
Curious, she took off the apron and peered at the stitching. ‘Gran, look at this.’
Betty leaned in as Clemmie ran her thumb over the series of tiny embroidered gold numbers. ‘1705,’ Clemmie read aloud, ‘The same numbers as in the recipe book.’
Betty’s brows knit together. ‘I’ve never noticed that before.’ Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Well, now, it’s even more of a mystery!’ She inspected the stitching closely. ‘It’s as if this apron and that recipe are connected somehow. Your great-great-grandfather must’ve known something we don’t. I’m sure they will be watching over you today.’
As Betty bustled out of the kitchen, Clemmie turned back to her friends, who were grinning at her like Cheshire cats.
‘You have a magical apron and those earrings from Oliver,’ Dilly said. ‘If that’s not ingredients for success, I don’t know what is!’
Amelia raised her mug in a toast. ‘To Clemmie Rose, Puffin Island’s royal baking champion!’
‘Hopefully,’ added Clemmie as she smoothed down the apron, her mind still very much on the embroidered number 1705. It had to mean something. Whatever it was, she decided, she would try to figure it out… after she won the competition.
‘I don’t know how you’re so calm. How are you going to get through today before the live event starts at six-thirty?’ said Dilly.
‘I’m working here until after the lunch rush then I have the afternoon off to chill.’
‘Sam has gone all out for it. He’s arranged for a giant screen to be erected on the jetty outside The Sea Glass Restaurant, angled perfectly so the entire island can gather on the beach and watch the event unfold live,’ added Amelia.
